


Endlessly Repeating

by ConstanceComment



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Fluff, Hotboxing, Humor, M/M, POV Character of Color, Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shotgunning, Smoke Weed Every Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:49:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstanceComment/pseuds/ConstanceComment
Summary: “Hey,” Jack says slowly, the word drawn out into a sentence as he opens his eyes again. “You wanna fuck?”For a moment, Gabriel considers it, the thought rolling around in his head, drifting in and out of focus like the beam of a lighthouse on a distant shore.“Sure,” he says eventually, “why the fuck not? You want me to get out of the bathtub, or do you wanna get in here?”





	Endlessly Repeating

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 4/20. I got challenged to put my money where my mouth is and actually write a fic for all the twitter threads I keep doing about Jack & Gabe getting high & boning.
> 
> Big thanks to [Laur](http://laur-rants.tumblr.com) for prodding me to do this in the first place, introducing me to the medical headcanon that THC might be one of the few painkillers to actually work reliably on supersoldiers, and for putting up with me while I cranked this out in the middle of the night.

There are nineteen different stains on the ceiling in the bathroom of their motel. Gabriel knows, because he’s counted like five times in the last half hour, sinking into the back lip of the empty bathtub he’s been lying in. His shirt is off, stuffed into the crack under the bathroom door along with his pants, Jack’s clothes, and all the towels they had, sealing the room, trapping the growing haze inside. 

Jack is spread out on the floor outside of the tub with only his briefs on, staring at the mirror, but sometimes at Gabriel, eyes glassy and distant. His limbs splay out on the linoleum tile, the lines of his body sharp and strong even from this angle, drawing Gabriel’s eye as he traces the dips and swells of muscle from Jack’s neck to the crook of his elbow where he’s cradling the bowl in the crook of his arm like it actually matters to him and it’s not a piece of shit Gabriel picked up for like twenty dollars the last time they were in the States. The lighter is on the rim of the tub with Gabriel, standing on the corner by the wall next to Gabriel’s head, glaring white and cursed, a joke that Jack had grabbed from a gas station outside of Jefferson City when the convoy stopped. Gabriel can’t look at it now without seeing the echo of Jack’s half-cocked smile, eyebrow raised, face ducked: _‘You were already 27 when you hit the Program, Gabe. If a lighter kills you, it’ll be cancer, not a curse. Besides, you’re not that good at guitar anyway.’_

Gabriel alternates between staring at Jack, and staring at the ceiling; they’re both interesting for the same reasons, mostly that they’re not going anywhere. They’ve only known each other for a year, and already Jack is a fucking constant in Gabriel’s life, distant and strange, but still _there,_ one of the steadiest, most predictable people he’s ever met. Sure, he’s unhinged, but they’re facing the end of the goddamn world. Every other month they’re in a new country, fighting new mechanical horrors, trying to bring hope to new sets of desperate people. You’d have to be a little unhinged to wake up every day and think _‘yes, today we’ll do it all, and then tomorrow we’ll do it again.’_

Long before Jack ever met Gabriel, he jumped out of planes to shoot things in the desert, and would smile doing it.

Moving as if with titanic effort, Jack carefully places the shitty bowl on the ground and levers himself into a sitting position, muscles working as he flops over onto the rim of the bathtub, folding his arms under his chin as he stares at Gabriel.

“Pass the lighter?” He asks. His voice is rough from the smoke, rasping and dry, that deep timbre pitched all that much lower in a way that makes Gabriel’s body light up with shivers.

Wordlessly, Gabriel hands it over, counting the faint freckles on Jack’s face. His hand lingers on Jack’s as Gabriel gives him the lighter, feeling the hair on his knuckles and the warmth of his skin.

With practiced, unhurried motions, Jack relights the bowl, eyes hooded as he leans down into the dim fire. His chest moves as he inhales, broad and strong, expanding and holding for a moment before he breathes out, smoke running from his nose and mouth as he passes the bowl to Gabriel, their hands brushing again as Gabriel takes the piece and the lighter, closing his eyes as he breathes in, in, in.

SEP had been a shitshow. So many members of their class had died, or been drummed out due to medical complications— to this day, Gabriel suspects that half the medical evacuations were put down somewhere else. If you survive your bones losing structural integrity, what kind of life would you have left? The government probably couldn’t live, either, with some failed experiment running around, whining about seeing their family, gasping sickly for air. Better to clean up the mistakes. Better to burn the records, and know the Program for what it was: the last ditch efforts of a dying nation to save itself from its original sin.

At the time, the pain had been immense. The nausea was almost worse— Gabriel still has seizures, sometimes, his brain lighting up in some uncomfortable way, like rolling an ankle suddenly in the dark. Jack’s sensory issues have never quite cleared up, his sense of pain gone into the abyss of comparisons, touch, taste, smell, sight, sound— all of them, still, so strong that there are afternoons when all they can do is lie in the dark together, barely touching, barely breathing, feeling the mattress move under their chests, listening for the murmurs of air from living bodies.

Smoking had become a way to handle that. Jack had found— _someone._ He knew (still knows) a lot of _someones—_ only 26 years old, but eight years in the service, and Jack already has endless connections, buddy after buddy ready to do him a solid. Add that up with how hard it is to convince a normal doctor that the only painkillers that work on your biology are various subspecies of herb, since the natural chemical is what skates through Jack and Gabriel’s enhanced metabolisms and poison resistances, and what they’ve been left with is pain and stress management for dummies: hold it in, let it out. Pass to the left.

Gabriel breathes out, and opens his eyes, finding Jack still leaning on the rim of the tub, staring distantly at him, blue eyes far away and piercing. Instead of passing the bowl back, Gabriel takes another hit, and twists sideways to be level with Jack. Gabriel brings his hand up to Jack’s jaw and presses at his cheek, grabbing and turning Jack until his mouth hangs open, accepting the kiss and the smoke Gabriel breathes into him. Jack’s mouth is slick and warm, tasting of dry heat and ash. His nose presses into Gabriel’s face until they fix the angle of the kiss, and Jack’s eyes drift closed to slits, breathing deep as Gabriel breathes out.

Eventually, Gabriel lets go, putting the bowl and the white lighter on the corner rim of the tub, nipping at Jack’s lower lip, lightly sinking his teeth in, sucking until he tastes the heat of blood, worrying at the torn skin that by morning will be healed and gone, as if Gabriel had never hurt him, and they had never done this.

“Hey,” Jack says slowly, the word drawn out into a sentence as he opens his eyes again. “You wanna fuck?”

For a moment, Gabriel considers it, the thought rolling around in his head, drifting in and out of focus like the beam of a lighthouse on a distant shore.

“Sure,” he says eventually, “why the fuck not? You want me to get out of the bathtub, or do you wanna get in here?”

“Eh,” Jack shrugs, “the floor’s the floor, but the tub can barely hold you. No idea how I’m gonna get your dick in my mouth without accidentally kicking you in the teeth if we do it that way.”

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel smiles, and pushes himself up on unsteady arms, the room swaying around him as he slumps out of the empty tub. His knees hit the floor first, then his back bumps against the side of the tub, and he slides down onto the linoleum, eyes fixed on the ceiling tiles again, counting the stains, and the intervals of the flickering of the overhead light.

He still remembers the first time Jack kissed him, the half-second of panic in his eyes before he shuttered it away, the awe and warm relief when Gabriel had kissed him _back,_ pressed Jack down into his bed, touched all over his changed body and felt the heat of his skin, rocking down into the cradle of Jack’s hips. The heat of that moment is still with him now, low in Gabriel’s belly, steady and strong.

It remains a small miracle, to be loved the way that Jack loves him. Gabriel doesn’t understand the way that Jack hides, can’t quite get his head around all the folds in his character, the ways in which Jack makes himself at once large and small, changing shape to fit his container. Under all of that, there’s only a person, fierce and bright, a distant star. At this point, Gabriel would kill for Jack (and has, mercy not exactly a luxury they can afford in the field.) But really, Gabriel would rather take him home, introduce Jack to his family, watch Jack play guitar and smile under the streetlights and stand on the beach at night. Gabriel wants to give him sand between his toes and a summer that doesn’t stagnate and boil, a future worth living for, not just surviving to.

Jack always fits the shape of the place that he’s in— Gabriel wants to learn who Jack would be if he were _free._

The warmth in Gabriel’s belly ticks over into a sharp pulse of pleasure, and a dampness near the inside where his thigh meets his crotch causes Gabriel to look down; Jack is mouthing at Gabriel’s cock through his boxers, left hand groping at Gabriel’s thigh. His right hand is occupied with trying to get at Gabriel’s cock, but Jack’s dexterity isn’t as good in his off hand— combined with how stoned he has to be right now, it’s not surprising he’s failing a simple, basic task.

“You’re a disaster,” Gabriel tells him, watching as Jack fumbles with his boxers. “Do you know you’re a disaster?”

“Shut up and help me get your dick out,” Jack complains, leaning up on one elbow to try and get better leverage.

Gabriel doesn’t help. The feeling of Jack’s weaker hand palming ineffectively at his cock through his boxers is careless and heavy, heat pooling in Gabriel’s gut as Jack touches him through his clothes, knuckles brushing against the skin of his belly at the top of his waistband. Eventually, Jack manages to get his fingers to bend the way he apparently wants them to, and works Gabriel’s cock through the slit in his boxers, a hand curling around the shaft and starting to move in light strokes.

“Fuck, that was harder than it needed to be,” Jack grumbles.

Gabriel laughs helplessly, snickering, so hard that for a moment he can’t breathe, feeling the muscles in his stomach jump even as Jack glares up at him, Gabriel’s dick still in his loose fist. _“Harder,”_ Gabriel wheezes, doubled over almost far enough to put his face in Jack’s gelled hair.

“And somehow _I’m_ the disaster,” Jack says.

Leaning back, he takes his hand off of Gabriel’s cock, only to lick a broad, efficient stripe over the palm before grabbing hold of Gabriel once more. The shock of light wetness isn’t like actual lube— too thin and not entirely slick, it does nothing to muffle the rasp of Jack’s calluses over Gabriel’s sensitive skin. The curl of Jack’s wrist as Gabriel fucks helplessly into his fist captures almost all of Gabriel’s attention, the sight of his own piercings catching the dulled glow of the overhead lights taking whatever remains.

“I wanna touch you,” Gabriel blurts, and presses his face into the side of Jack’s head, breathing deep, trying to smell him under the smoke.

“So touch me, then,” Jack offers, tightening his grip in a way that makes Gabriel groan, pleasure radiating up through his core.

“Hard to focus when you’re doing that,” Gabriel points out, huffing as Jack rubs his thumb around the head of Gabriel’s dick, the pad of his finger pressing lightly at the ring piercing at his slit.

“Do you want me to stop?” Jack asks.

 _“No,”_ Gabriel says, earnest, drawn out and desperate as he bucks into Jack’s hand, mouthing at the place where Jack’s jaw meets his neck.

Gabriel leans his head down on Jack’s shoulder, panting into his skin as Jack continues to work him. Waves of pleasure match the rhythm of Jack’s rough fingers moving across Gabriel’s dick, Jack’s other hand reaching down and under Gabriel, testing gently at his hole. Gabriel grinds down on him, and Jack makes a pleased noise low in his throat that Gabriel can _feel._

In the face of all that, it’s hard to drag his thoughts together. Gabriel cups Jack through his briefs, hefting his balls, rubbing at the damp spot in the front of the briefs where Jack’s dick is straining against the fabric. Carefully, trying to keep a handle on his own coordination, Gabriel manages to roll the briefs down. Jack’s cock, once freed, stands out flushed and leaking, wetness beading at the tip.

Gabriel takes hold immediately, running his thumb around the head, rubbing the shaft firmly with his fingers. Jack groans and thrusts up into Gabriel’s fist, tightening his own grip on Gabriel reflexively.

“Change of plans,” Jack gasps. “How do you feel about getting fucked?”

“Positively,” Gabriel says. “I mean. If there’s lube. Do we have lube in here?”

“It’s in my kit,” Jack grinds out, bringing his hand closer to Gabriel’s, until their knuckles are touching, until they can feel each other moving even as they bow entirely into one another. “Side left. And condoms.”

“Damn, you’re a fucking boyscout.” Gabriel pauses. “A _fucking_ boyscout.”

Jack groans. “Why in god’s name do I continue to sleep with you?” He asks, pinching Gabriel’s nipple with his free hand.

“Because I’ve got an ass that won’t quit,” Gabriel says. “That, and you like me or something.”

“Or something,” Jack agrees, voice soft and rasping, surf over sand.

Eventually, they manage to pry away from one another, relinquishing their grips with great reluctance as Jack stands, wobbling, to grab his kit. He passes the lube to Gabriel, and starts to open the condom, foil packet tearing while Gabriel bends over the side of the tub, cool porcelain only so much warmer where they’ve been lying on it, knees braced on the tile.

Trying to open himself while balancing on a solid surface proves to be as much of a chore as getting Jack’s briefs off had been. Gabriel’s barely managed to spread lube around his hole before Jack’s fingers are on him, a shock of touch and rough skin, smearing the wetness around, probing at Gabriel’s entrance, moving his fingers out of the way. Gabriel presses a finger in, and after a few thrusts, Jack mirrors him, adding a second next to Gabriel’s and crooking it, making him groan at the solid intrusion.

Whatever rhythm they could’ve established, they lose it quickly to Gabriel’s lethargy and Jack’s impatience. Jack’s thrusts are quick-paced, or it feels like that to Gabriel, who’s hiding his face in the cradle of his arms, bent over and braced on the bathroom floor, body jerking without his consent every time Jack so much as brushes his prostate. The room smells like haze, and Jack’s knees are brushing against Gabriel’s knees, his thighs coming to brace against the inside of Gabriel’s thighs, nudging them apart. Jack’s doubled set of dogtags bounces off of Gabriel’s skin before coming to rest somewhere in his mid back as Jack leans forward, down, breathing over Gabriel’s neck—

He pushes in slowly, and they both make a sound like they’re dying.

Gabriel knows that there is plenty of air in the room. He knows that no matter how ardently they try to hotbox the room, there’s no way that they managed to significantly reduce the amount of oxygen left available to them. But with Jack covering him from behind, arms braced on the rim of the tub that Gabriel’s is bent over on, thrusting slow and deep, with long strokes Gabriel can feel from his toes to the base of his neck, he’s having trouble catching his breath.

The heat is overwhelming, and Gabriel pulls a hand out from under his arm, unfolding to grasp vainly for something, anything he can get hold of. Eventually, he settles, left arm bent at an awkward angle so that Jack can twine their fingers together. Jack is gasping lowly somewhere slightly above Gabriel’s ear, desperate words about how _good_ Gabriel is, how strong and pliant.

“Look at you,” Jack is saying somewhere else. “God, fuck, look at you. So— _gorgeous.”_

Gabriel feels blood rush to his face and chest as he flushes, making a sound he can’t quite identify as he pushes back into Jack’s thrusts. The friction is amazing, but not enough, and it lasts for what must be an eternity, Jack’s dense voice and the weight of his body all Gabriel can hold on to.

At some point, Jack reaches down for Gabriel’s neglected dick, and jerks him off in a rhythm that quickly falls out of sync with their rutting as they both chase their ends. Jack’s fingers, still slick from the lube, catch and slip over Gabriel’s piercings, and when Jack flicks the ring at the head, Gabriel comes all over his right hand, shaking and gasping as he tries desperately to take in more air, fingers twisting against Jack’s left.

A few more thrusts, and Gabriel gathers his wits enough to push back and bear down on Jack, listening to him swear as he shakes to completion, biting roughly against Gabriel’s shoulder as he stills. Jack leans away, and pulls out, leaving Gabriel feeling _empty_ and alone, cold— he turns, reaching, and slumps into Jack, who’s busy wiping his slick hand off on the towels shoved under the door so that he can tie the condom off and dispose of it. With that taken care of, Jack leans back, lying down on the ground with Gabriel’s head and upper torso in his lap, the both of them staring at the ceiling, tracing the patterns in the moving smoke.

Jack’s left hand is on Gabriel’s face, running idly along the lines by his nose, drawing unknowable patterns across his cheekbone and down to his ear. The touch is nice, safe— Gabriel feels the energy from sex starting to leave his body, lethargy reasserting itself more strongly than before.

“Ten-ten,” Jack says, after an indeterminate moment. “Would come again.”

Gabriel laughs, then groans as the action puts strain on his ribs. Maybe fucking up against a hard bathtub wasn’t the smartest idea. A fact occurs to him: “We fucked in a _bathroom,”_ he says, slightly horrified.

“Eh,” Jack shrugs. “Not every venue can have a great view.”

“Jack, we’re lying _naked on the floor. Of a random motel bathroom,”_ Gabriel stresses, already scrambling up, feeling his skin begin to crawl.

“Oh,” Jack says. A pause follows. Then: _“Oh!”_

“I’m taking a shower,” Gabriel declares, fumbling at the shower head attached to the tub.

“I’m joining you,” Jack mumbles as Gabriel starts the shower _“Fuck.”_

Despite himself, Gabriel laughs again, the pain in his abused ribs muted and distant. “C’mon,” he says, stepping into the spray of lukewarm water. “Let’s make sure round two is better.”

**Author's Note:**

> The fic title is excised from a quote by Richard Neville: “Is marijuana addictive? Yes, in the sense that most of the really pleasant things in life are worth endlessly repeating.”
> 
> Also blah blah, the real reason Overwatch fell was something something a 20+ year delay on Jack and the white lighter curse.


End file.
